Flares are back.
They haven't hit the ridiculous. Yet. But I can see it. It's coming. They have already cropped up in Prada's latest ready to wear collection (the mini flare).
I have spied a few in the Karen Walker show (previewed in New York recently).
And Rocha had some flares rocking in their last preview.
Even my all time favourite fashion blogger Rumi has been waltzing around NYC in a pair.
Now don't get me wrong, I actually like the look of the above, but I have a past with flares, a past that was happy when skinny was in.
I am short. Barely 5ft 2. Flares have a way of making the short look dumpy (not that it's hard). Try telling this to an 11-year-old girl. I had all kinds of flares. If they didn't kick out at the bottom, I wouldn't wear them.
I distinctively remember my mother and father bought me a pair of leather Miss Sixty trousers. They were cool. Very cool (and how often can you say something you wore was cool 10 years on). But I couldn't see the cool, through the skinny. They weren't flared. So, as per the rule I introduced earlier, I didn't wear them.
I used to have a light, it was triangular (picture a cone, that lights up, well that's what it was). I used to put the leg of these trousers over the light as i slept (plan was to stretch them). Long story short, it didn't work, they were barely worn and I miss them to this day.
So flares, don't come back, please, because I don't look good in you, they hide shoes (and that is a sin) and, much like a bad ex boyfriend, I know I will fall for your trap again.